


endure

by orphan_account



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-02 02:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Artemis has never missed seeing Zatanna perform.





	endure

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to [@zaatanna](https://tmblr.co/m6ZXYcWHCSmKWsfbvJ8nHfQ) & [@armtemiscrock](https://tmblr.co/mjum3RW1OMgtSC2sFwvLe_Q) for [the idea + inspiration](http://zaatanna.tumblr.com/post/182901836445/headcannon-artemis-has-never-missed-one-of)! **__**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Artemis has never missed seeing Zatanna perform.

No matter what, no matter when, she’s there. When Zatanna comes out on stage and applause fills the room, Artemis can always be found in the front row, watching. Waiting. Just for her.

In the beginning, her nerves would get the best of her. The anxiety would claw its way up her chest, clutching at her throat, make it near impossible to calm her breathing. In the spotlight, she would begin to choke, becoming prone to fumbling. Especially when her father attended; since the League kept him away more and more often, he got to see her less and less, and, more than anything, she wanted to make him proud. And she was putting enough pressure on herself as it was.

But she always found herself grounded after the first time she invited Artemis to a show, and every time since then it became easier and easier. She enjoyed herself more and more—not just during the show, when her training would take over and her confidence would emerge—but beforehand, too. She loved peeking out behind the curtain, allowing her gaze to scan the crowd before predictably, _lovingly_ , finding and staying on Artemis. Artemis would always catch her eye, flash her a wink or a smirk, wave or dryly salute. It was even funnier when she looked out and saw Giovanni sitting right next to Artemis, either engaging in friendly conversation or sitting silently, patiently, waiting for the lights to come down.

It was hard, after Nabu took her father from her. The League calls it a sacrifice, but she didn’t believe them. Couldn’t. Not at first, anyway. Nabu stole her family from her, all that she had left in the world, and she spent more time than she cared to admit trying to work through that. Trying to wrap her head around it. To accept the unacceptable.

It took a while for her to find it within herself to continue performing, to get back out under the spotlight and smile and wave, smile and wave and conjure white doves carrying ornate chandeliers, wax-candle women pulling daisy chains out of each other’s wicks, boys made of building blocks who played golden fiddles, serpents who left trails of glitter and tigers who, when roaring, made the lights flicker and burst. In his absence, he left a hole, a chasm she desperately tried to ignore, then distract herself from, then fill with other means. But she learned to face it; she learned to accept that, in a way, she was grieving. Giovanni Zatara wasn’t dead, but he _was_ gone. Would be, for the foreseeable future.

The team was there for her, but only when she let them. Artemis, however, was another thing entirely. She became almost separate from them in their efforts to comfort her, to distract her and provide her with something— _anything_ —so that she could gather that warmth inside her, so she could hoard it and use it to build herself back up to a version of herself which could smile through anything and only collapse behind closed doors. Often times, Artemis never said anything about it at all. There were times when she did, but either she said nothing, or she talked about something else entirely. She did it in a way that didn’t feel as forced as the team. Though she loved them dearly, and considered them her family, it was Artemis who she began to lean on.

They ate together; they trained together; they read together; they went on missions together. But something Zatanna came to appreciate, some time after going back into show business, was that Artemis always gave her space when Zatanna asked. Never once did she push it or force them to have a conversation about it. If Zatanna wanted to be alone, Artemis would leave, sometimes for hours or days at a time. Sometimes the silence would be welcome, or unbearable, but either way, through trial and error, patience and time, things slowly but surely got better. She began to _heal_.

Zatanna started performing again. Her first once since her hiatus took place in a small theater, tucked snugly among warehouses and office buildings just south of Gotham. She didn’t tell Artemis—because she didn’t know herself if she would even go through with it—but when she went out on stage, and found herself regretting not asking Artemis to go for her, and while she wasn’t exactly nervous her eyes _did_ sting, and—

There. Two to the left from dead center. _Front row_.

Artemis, waiting for her.

Zatanna remembered to exhale.

After that, she started reconnecting with the team. Artemis didn’t stay over as much. She found herself enjoying social outings and training exercises again, moving freely from one task to the next. Standing on her own two feet. The grief was no longer suffocating, not with the passing of time; rather, she managed to heal a bit, then buried the rest of it, and it would only resurface if she saw Doctor Fate, if she woke up from a dream where her father was dragged away from her, into Nabu’s horrid, burning golden light.

And life went on. Missions; shows; shopping and dinner dates; and—

_Well_. She discovered it sometime before she became a member of the Justice League. A kind of creeping, lurking _thing_ lingering somewhere in the back of her, that might have been there since _day one_ of meeting the team, of meeting Artemis—

_Artemis_.

Somewhere along the way, Zatanna began to _want_. To yearn. It didn’t occur to her until much, much later that, when her mind began to drift, it always went back to Artemis. It didn’t occur to her that it was happening in a way it hadn’t before. That it was happening at all should have been enough, should have tipped her off, but with the League, and the team, and then the transitions and the changes—she couldn’t tell what exactly it was that was pulling at her for so long, maybe for the whole time they had known each other.

The realization made Zatanna’s heart skip a beat.

So here they are, just after seven, spending a Friday night together but so far apart.

Zatanna is full up of light, but her nerves are acting up again—though not for the reason they used to.

She takes a breath, steadying herself.

The show will be starting soon.

And, after—

Zatanna has something she wants to say to Artemis. She is giddy with the thought of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
